


Delaying The Inevitable

by darkandgritty



Category: The Crucible - Miller
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandgritty/pseuds/darkandgritty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mature rated version of the affair between John Proctor and Abigail Williams, and everything leading up to the Salem Witch Trials.  A mixture of The Crucible with some details of their historical counterparts sprinkled in.  Play-Aged Abigail, I wouldn't feel right representing her at her actual age at the time of the Trials and leading up to it, older is better in this circumstance, at least for my conscience. :)  Rated M for a reason.  May end up as a one shot.  Pun intended.  Feedback adored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Proctor was a busy man. Between his homestead, and the farming that went with it, and the tavern that he had a financial stake in, he had little time for nonsense, and with almost more children then he could count between his first marriage, with his departed Martha, the first Elizabeth, and on his third marriage now, he and this Elizabeth were well on their way to filling their spacious home.

Seven hundred acres belonged to the Proctor's just to the south of the village of Salem, and John spent most of his time in the fields, but ever since the birth of little Elisha he found himself being needed more frequently. His wife had lost a lot of blood in that labor, and hadn't quite recovered. She'd aways had a constitution, that wasn't as strong as that of either of his previous wives, but she was a good woman, and he did his best to be patient with her as she struggled to meet all of her duties in the home.

It was his daughter Martha who had recommended that perhaps he should bring in some outside help. She had been helping with the Tavern, along with the oldest of his children. The money that came in was enough to support them, and the farm besides, but John believed in waking up at dawn, and working until long after the sun had tucked in for the night.

The girl they had brought in to help with the needs of the house had been a charity case. Her parents, murdered by savages. Having nothing to sustain her but her relationship to the Reverend Samuel Parris and his family. The idea of having an extra set of hands around the house for work had been appealing to Elizabeth, and more so when she had learned of the losses that had troubled the child.

At 15, Abigail Williams had moved into the cellar, and into the employment of the Proctor home. The girl had given him no trouble, for her first few months, and it wasn't until his wife had mentioned the girl talking back to him, and he had decided to take the punishment into his own hands, that he had even been alone with her. 

It had started as a small thing. Elizabeth had called for a cup of tea, as she fed the baby, and after asking three times with no response, she had been forced to get the tea herself, before tracking down the Williams girl. She had been laying in the hayloft, shirking her duties, and though she had immediately apologized for her mistake, and gone back to her duties, his wife had still decided to mention it, after supper that day.

The dishes washed, the Williams girl had gone back to the hayloft. The chill of the early fall air wasn't enough to keep her from her favorite location. There had been plenty of times that she had slept out in that hayloft. Gazing up at the sky as much as she could, through a hole in the roof. Elizabeth had found her there, oversleeping now and then, and he wondered if that were the case for the mornings mistake, as he studied what he could see of her from the door of the barn.

If she noticed that he had entered, it did not prevent her from continuing a motion that he could not quite see from the angle near the door, and with purposeful, but quiet steps he loped his way through the barn, and to the ladder that led to the top of the hayloft portion, and he climbed. Freezing in shock at the sight displayed before him.

The Williams girl was doing some exploration, beneath her skirt. Her under things pushed aside. Her fingers delving deep into herself, arching her back and moaning in response to the feeling of it. He froze staring at her, his hands gripping onto the sides of the ladder as he froze, watching her.

It didn't take long for Abigail to notice him at the hayloft. He had hoped she would stop, but his presence only seemed to push her to further levels of debauchery. Throwing her bonnet off, her long dark curls a wicked halo around her face, as she moaned his name, thrashing wantonly as she brought herself to the brink of pleasure and past it.

All of the color had drained from him as he had stared, transfixed. But as the shock of it began to fade away, his irritation grew. If he were honest, he would have to admit to other parts of him growing as well, but his focus was on punishing the girl. Managing with some difficulty. "You are to get dressed. Instantly." 

Her smile had greeted him, as she let the remainder of her chemise slide away so he could catch a glimpse of one of her newly blossoming breasts. Unmarked by the sagging, or lines that came with Motherhood. She couldn't have looked less like Elizabeth if she had tried. He caught his breath, staring at the appealing pink nub of her nipple, and without remembering climbing the last of the ladder he found himself above her, his hands tightening in her dark curls. After pulling her to his feet, he hissed against her ear. 

"I will whip you for this. We do not allow wanton strumpets in our home. When I am done whipping you for this, I will whip you again for shirking in your duties!"

A moan had greeted him, and he stood puzzled. Not understanding the motivations of the girl at all. They were easier recognized when her hand had gone to tighten around the erection he had only vaguely been aware of above the buzzing and heat in his head. He followed the up and down motion of her hand, before grabbing his hands around her wrists, and pushing her hard into the wall of the hayloft.

Without knowing how it had happened, their lips were upon each other. Their tongues encircling in a lewd dance. He crushed his body against hers, and she had struggled with his belt. 

At the last moment before she had freed him from the prison of his belt, his hands prevented her. Managing with some difficulty. 

"If you ever do anything like this again, I will tell your Uncle about your wicked ways, girl!"

The giggle that had been her initial response had surprised him, more then angered him, in the moment, but remembering the sweet bell like sound of it, left him irritated and bothered. In many ways.

She had licked her lips before responding as he held onto her wrists to prevent any further exploration. 

"John, why would you do that? Why do that, when you could have me right here? I've been touching myself for months, after supper every night, thinking of you. " 

Her bright green eyes had looked up to him from under the veil of her unreasonably long lashes. And he let out a hiss of air as he exhaled.

" This will never again be discussed!"

She had tilted her head and given him a triumphant smile.

"You have all ready kissed me, John Proctor. We are only delaying the inevitable. We have no need to discuss anything. The questions I want answered don't require any words. How would it feel to have you inside of me? "

Her voice had been tremulous, but heady too. She had been certain he would succumb to her charms, and in a way, he certainly had. He had kissed her once. And not pushed her away nearly as quickly as he should have when her touch had crossed far past that of employee and employer.

He had fled from the barn, leaving her half dressed, and hungry with desire. He had walked a half mile, to the little lake that was on the far side of his property. It had been an uncomfortable journey. His need straining against his trousers the entire way. When he was certain he was along, he had released his engorgement, and now with a slow and vice like grip he was stroking himself, considering all that had happened today, and the sinfulness of the nature of his thoughts, of his actions.

Yet all the same, he found his bliss and cried out "Abigail!" under his breath, as the seed of life spilled forth from him, a couple drips landing on his trousers and the rest on the ground at his feet. He stepped back far enough away not to worry about landing on his mess, repositioning himself in his trousers and leaning against the base of the white willow tree that had been present for his foray into lustful thoughts and auctions. Catching his breath, and glancing upward through the many pointing fingers, limbs and branches of the tree, all accusing him, as he peered to the sky, the constellations peering down.

Unsuspecting inside the house, Elizabeth tended to tucking the children into their beds, and helping them with their prayers, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that had begun, and the way it would destroy them all.


	2. Chapter 2

John Proctor stumbled his way back into his home, after spending many hours against the tree, and cursing himself for his frailties. He was a good man, beneath it all, he had struggled to convince himself. The girl would be punished for her sinful ways. Perhaps he would turn her over to her wrathful Uncle, and he'd enjoy seeing that sensuous smile fall from her unnaturally plump lips.  
The idea of dispensing justice to her with his own hand was far more appealing. His hand twitched at the idea, ripping her dress and revealing her back, and taking out his aggressions on her creamy flesh. He did his best to push those images from his manned when the familiar pressure and heat alerted him that perhaps he was taking too much satisfaction in that particular fantasy.  
Ignoring the aching in his loins, and the wish to relieve himself of it, he made his way into the house, long darkened from extinguished candles, only the small embers of the fireplace in the room they both dined, and relaxed in showed any sign of life.   
Kneeling before the hearth, iron poker in hand, he began to stoke the charred wood, adding another chipped log to the top, and starting when he realized he was not alone. The Williams girl was laying on the small sofa of their sitting room, in nothing but her night gown, and at the moment, it was pushed haphazardly up against her thighs.  
"Will you join me?" Her voice purred, as she flexed her hips upward invitingly. He felt his breath catch, and a strange sound escaped his throat. Hand encircling the poker in his hand, dark images of what he could do to her, with the poker there in his hand, or the one straining desperately against his trousers.  
"No." His voice more of a growl, then anything as he replaced the poker, and gapped the distance between them in moments. His hand tightening around her forearm, certainly there would be a bruise in the shape of his fingers in the morning.  
She yelped as he tugged her from her laying position, and she struggled, as he yanked her to her feet, falling into him, her hands struggling for purchase, one gripping to his arm, the other pushing on his chest as she caught her breath. He watched her warily and moved to step away.  
He felt her press her lithe form, fresh in the blossoms of youth and unmarred by the marks of childbirth, and the years of being a Mother and Wife, tending to the farm and the Inn left little energy left, and the light that shone like a beacon within Abigail had long been snuffed out in Elizabeth Proctor.   
He struggled to even his breathing, but could not deny the connection he felt with her, and his wish to feel a deeper connection, lodged deep inside her, to feel and see what her eyes would look like then, as he took her in a way he always wanted to take his wife. He wanted to make her cry in pleasure and pain, and he could not do that to the woman who had bore his children. The woman who enjoyed the sweet poetry of psalms, and who closed her eyes every time she was with him, enduring her duties.  
Abigail Williams would not endure him. He could tell she would enjoy every minute, and his hand tightened on her arm, and he gruffly rocked his hips towards her, his other hand moving to encircle in the dark hair, free of a bonnet or even the constraints of a braid. He yearned to control her, and the resulting moan she gave as he tugged hard, enjoying the expression of hunger that floated across her features. As her hand began it's descent to free him of the cloth prison that encircled him, he released her shoulder, and his hand moved instead around her throat, the other still tightly holding to her hair.  
He led her to the wall opposite the fireplace, hidden from view of the stairwell, and slammed her into it. Hard. Tears of pain sprung to her eyes, and she began to tremble beneath his hand, her pale skin flushing as she struggled to catch a deep breath, his grip not preventing her completely from breathing, but restricting it to shallow breaths. Her bright eyes focused on him, as he leaned in to whisper, near enough to her lips that she could smell his breath.  
"You do not touch me, unless I tell you too. Do you understand?" His eyes blazed, pressing close enough with his body that he could feel the warmth of her thigh against his staggering need, through the thin muslin of her night dress.  
"Yes". She garbled, through the stricture of his work-worn fingers.  
Releasing her throat but tugging tighter to her hair, he kept his voice low, grateful the sleeping quarters of his family were upstairs and doing his best to push the thought of them from his mind. Trying not to picture Elizabeth's face, as his hand slid down the front of the succubus in front of him, pausing in wonder at the firmness of her breasts, and the way her left nipple hardened with his attention, and how it felt through the shift that hid her from him. He groaned, and released her hair, moving her hands to his belt buckle and managing harshly.  
"Touch me." He licked his lips, surprised by the lack of moisture in his mouth as she began to fumble with his belt buckle. After a few moments his frustration grew, and he pushed one of her hands down further, hissing as her hand made contact and moving to remove the belt buckle. His hands surprisingly steady as he dropped it to the ground, the clack of the metal buckle echoing around them. He paused, and glanced to the ceiling above him. Certain that they had not disturbed anyone else in the household he freed himself of everything below the waist, and groaned in response as Abigail quickly began to acquaint her hands with his thighs, and everything between.  
Her hands were soft, and she began to stroke his length with surprising skill and it struck him like a lightning bolt that he was not the first man she had done this for. Before he could accuse her of harlotry, or realize the hypocrisy in such a statement, she whispered. "May I kiss you. Here?" Tightening her hold on his erection. He rocked his hips forwards out of instinct and gasped at the idea. He had heard of whores in the European countries doing such things, it had been whispered about in his Inn, but he had thrown a man out for saying such a thing in front of his second wife, and offending her sensibilities.  
He swallowed and returned one hand to her hair, tightening it around her dark hair, and the other moving to press against the wall beside her head, losing a very brief inner struggle with his conscious and growling. "Now."  
She licked her lips slowly before dropping slowly to her knees in front of him, using the wall to slide her way down, and before he knew it, she was covering him in forbidden licks. Tasting every generous inch of him, causing pleasures and sensations he hadn't known possible. He gasped, his legs beginning to tremble, just a little, tightening his hold on her hair and pushing harder against the wall, bracing himself, growling. "You witch. You trollop." His insults quickly forming into moans as he felt her open her mouth to him, taking him within. He gasped, as his hips rocked forward and he found himself rocking deep into the recesses of her throat, feeling it tighten around his length as she struggled for breath, the gag reflex gripping him and causing him once again to spill his seed in a way that would not lead to pregnancy, and both of those times had been at the cause of the girl, no, woman, on her knees before him.   
He shuddered, and swallowed back a cry that would have woke the house. Tightening his hand for a moment on her hair, pulling her back and stepping away, quickly getting into his pants, and glaring at her as she dabbed her lips with the back of her hand, her features obscured by the darkness of his home, only the small crackling fire shedding light on their sins.  
She watched him from the floor, as he redressed, her voice like velvet as she asked. "John Proctor, are you glad you have brought me to your house?"  
He shook his head in response, tightening his belt, and murmuring. " You are a wolf and I fear for my flock."  
Abigail laughed, a dark sound that sent a cold prickle at the base of his spine that began to spread, like a disease. Her voice slick with derision. "You entered the mouth of the beast. And if I am not mistaken, you'll be looking for other entry points before the week is out. Good Night, Master Proctor. " Her smile growing, as she stayed on her knees, watching him from a vantage point that had given her more power then he could have imagined.  
"Give my best to Goodie Proctor. And tomorrow, you can give your best to me."  
He stumbled his way up the stairs like a drunkard, his mind reeling at his infidelity, and the way that the servant girl ignited fire in his blood. Unable to share the bed with his sleeping wife, due to guilt and shame, he sat in the armchair near the window, alternating between watching the starts turn into a beautiful pink, and yellow painting as the night turned to dawn, and the calm, unsuspecting face of his sleeping wife.  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a phrase swam, as he drifted into sleep as the first glimmers of dawn approached.   
Pink skies in morning, sailors take warning.


End file.
